


Mirroring and Mending

by slytherykin (sweetkidlousycook)



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Bisexual Male Character, Bisexual Remus Lupin, Canonical Character Death, F/M, Grief/Mourning, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-26
Updated: 2012-07-26
Packaged: 2017-11-10 19:17:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,412
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/469744
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sweetkidlousycook/pseuds/slytherykin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Archiving old fics.</p><p>Because love isn't static, love doesn't die but you don't have to die with it either, and if you're lucky you get more than one love of your life.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mirroring and Mending

I. - May 1996

Three days after Remus watched helplessly as Sirius fell through the veil, three days after he held Harry back when the only thing he wanted to do was follow Sirius and the whispering voices he somehow knew were James and Lily, Nymphadora Tonks tells him she is in love with him. The words spill out of her as if she can't hold on to them anymore - "I love you Remus. I really, really do. I know you think it's just a crush, but it's not."

She looks so vulnerable, the colour literally drained from her face and from her hair, now a faded sort of lilac. It isn't as if he didn't know she felt something for him, it isn't a complete shock or bolt from the blue, and it isn't completely unwanted. He likes her - a lot, as it happens. She's sweet yet feisty, silly yet dedicated. But the wound inflicted three days ago won't heal any quicker for that. She's familiar. It makes it worse.

He wants to say so many things but all he can manage is "Why now, Dora? Why - " He can't even finish anything so simple. Why tell him that right now? Why does she love him of all people when she could have someone who isn't broken?

She stares at him as if the answer is obvious. "Because life's too short not to."

He turns away and she cries.

Once she's gone he doesn't know what to do. They've got so close. She's listened to his worries more times than he can count, although he's always kept the deepest and darkest ones hidden. He could easily fall head over heels. But he can't. Not now. She jogs too many memories, with all that hidden Black family fire. He feels as if what little remained of his heart left this world with Sirius.

***

II. - September 1995

The boy that Sirius is pretending to be died fourteen years ago with a harsh laugh that broke Remus's heart, but he's putting on a good show tonight.

"I think my favourite niece fancies you," he says smugly. Remus glares at him. If Sirius were a normal person he'd at least have the good grace to sound shocked or jealous or angry, but no, he sounds smug when announcing that a beloved and much younger relative has a crush on his paramour, as if it somehow proves he has good taste. Remus thinks Sirius has very bad taste in everything, especially lovers, and is worried for Nymphadora Tonks if she's started following in his footsteps.

He can't get a hold on the idea at all. Why would someone like Nymphadora fancy him? She always seemed so actively outlandish, the kind of girl who'd go for a rock star over a bookworm, but perhaps he doesn't know her very well. He was always mystified that Sirius wanted him when he could have had pretty much anyone in Gryffindor or Hufflepuff he wanted, and that was back when they were both young and Remus's back didn't hurt all the time.

"…Wait, what? And she's not your niece. She's your cousin once removed."

"Tchh. Stop being such a pedant. Anyway, yeah." He sits down in an armchair and sprawls lazily, tight muscles relaxed by wine. "She cornered me after dinner and asked if we were a couple."

"What did you tell her?" Remus swallows nervously. He's not even sure they are a couple. He's never been sure - it was always so hard to tell and everything they've been through has only made their attachment more unhealthily needy yet unspoken, clinging tighter and pushing away harder.

"That we're together. I couldn't lie to her, it'd be weird."

Remus raises his eyebrows in response as if it doesn't faze him at all, even though it does. "It was hardly the Order's best kept secret, was it? What with all the groping."

"My groping is strictly an under the table sort of business. I am very subtle." Sirius grins. Remus can't help smiling back. Sirius's teeth are marred by starvation and neglect and his cheeks are still too hollow so it's not the dazzling grin of his youth, but it's still got the power to make someone forgive him for almost anything.

***

III. - October 1996

Remus cannot sleep. His bed, a simple one in a smaller spare room of the headquarters of the Order, is cold and empty and musty from lack of use - he's not been here for a while. He tells himself it's because he's so busy running with the wolves, sleeping in old hideaways to let the feral feelings fade before he has to talk to anyone he cares about, but it's only partially that. He keeps running away from here, the place Sirius hated but is full of memories of him. They're sad ones but he treasures them anyway. He keeps getting dragged back.

He gets up, pulls on his dressing gown and heads for the kitchen to have a cup of tea. If he's not going to sleep he might as well be warm and caffeinated. He walks down dark corridors and staircases, past covered portraits and curios and the lighter spaces where the more grotesque ones used to be. The change from last year is immense. For a short while Grimmauld Place had been a hub of activity but even though they know it's still theirs, passed from Sirius to Harry, no-one wants to be here. Even the spiteful little house elf is absent, banished to the Hogwarts kitchens. A layer of dust is forming over everything again.

He goes past the corridor that leads to Sirius's room and considers taking a detour, considers sitting in that room and trying to remember everything about him, every conversation, the tiniest moments, as if that'll somehow bring him back to life. His heart wrenches at the thought. It wouldn't help. Even though Sirius left his indelible mark on that room it was never really his home.

He peers into the kitchen and she's there.

He wants to sit with her and talk to her, but he can't bear it right now so he gives up on the tea and begins to sneak away, hoping desperately she didn't notice him.

"Remus?"

He can't not talk to her now. It would be cruel - if he's honest, it'd be cruel to both of them. He walks back in and sits down across the table from her, and looks at her properly for the first time in what seems like forever. Her eyes have dark circles around them and the oversized Weird Sisters t-shirt that serves as her nightdress is baggier than ever. All the bright colour faded from her hair completely after she told him and it still hasn't come back. She gets him a cup of tea and they sit in silence for a while.

Suddenly, she scrunches up her face in concentration and brushes her fingers through her hair. Black streaks follow them then envelop every strand and Remus doesn't want to stare but he can't help it. It's when her eyes flash storm-grey that he flinches.

"NO. No. Don't do that. Please."

The black fades away again and she glares at him. "I thought that was what you wanted. For me to look like him."

"Then you don't know me very well," he says, more bitterly than he should but less so than he wants.

"What do you want then?"

"For you to be happy. I can't do that for you. Just be yourself, find someone who's as full of life as you are. You deserve that. I mean… I'm much too old for you. Old and tired."

"You're too old for everyone," she says, but there's a trace of a smile on her lips.

***

IV. - September 1980

"I fought the law and the law won!" Sirius Black's voice echoes around the top floor of the house he, Remus and Peter share. Remus frowns, his headache too all-encompassing to allow him to put up with Sirius's very loud love for anarchy today. He understands the fascination. Sirius may not really understand anything to do with Muggles but he knows all about rebellion. It doesn't mean he has to like it.

"Shut up!" Remus shouts through the door. "For the last time, you're not Sam Vicious."

"Sid Vicious!" Sirius yells back. "And this is the Clash, Sid was in the Sex Pistols, may he rest in peace. Lighten up, anyone'd think you were middle-aged from the way you're going on..."

"Whatever!" Remus stands up, leaving his books on the little table in his bedroom, and stomps down the hallway, flinging open Sirius's door. The music is loud and clear now, and Remus can't help relenting a little when he sees Sirius jumping up and down on the bed, playing an imaginary guitar. He tries to gather his resolve when Sirius opens his eyes, sees him, and collapses onto the bed. "I'm trying to read!"

"I'm sorry, Moony." He looks genuinely sorry and Remus suddenly feels guilty. They have very little opportunity for joy and happiness these days, it seems somehow perverse and cruel to deny Sirius the simple pleasure of listening to a few records and making some noise.

"No, it's okay," he manages. "It's just tough at the moment, that's all."

"We are literally living on the edge," says Sirius. "It's kind of exciting, in a horrible, scary way." He reaches out to Remus and takes his hand, then pulls him in for a kiss. It's long and slow and utterly at odds with how hyperactive he was moments before, and Remus loves it, loves Sirius enough to ignore the poster of a Muggle girl in her underwear draped faux-seductively over a motorbike. Sirius stops and just looks at him. "Home sweet home, eh? I don't see you nearly enough these days. Either I'm out, or you've disappeared somewhere or other..."

"I don't want to talk about it now," says Remus sharply. He feels bad enough that he's too sick to work full-time for the Order without getting the third degree, and suspicions have run high about everyone involved even on the very edges of the resistance of late. Sirius nods but doesn't pull away, keeps holding him for just a little while longer.

The front door creaks open and then slams shut, and they can hear Peter's shuffling footsteps in the downstairs hallway. They break apart instantly, then run to the staircase.

"Hey, Wormtail, how's it going?" Sirius calls down.

Peter doesn't stare up, keeps his gaze fixed firmly on the floor. He looks grey and exhausted. He hesitates slightly, then - "I'm fine, thanks."

***

V. - November 1996

He doesn't dread having to work with her. They've been on civil terms since her declaration of love; the Order of the Phoenix and the fight against Voldemort is more important than romantic squabbles. He can't pretend he hasn't appreciated her company even though it's silent and tense now. But he has never been the most sociable person in the world, and even though there is only one person in the Order who outright hates him and everyone else is being so kind and understanding, the only people he'd ever really felt comfortable with before were Sirius, James, Peter and Lily. He knows how deep anti-werewolf sentiment runs, how primal the fear is, and how the fact he has to socialise with the wilder of "his kind" worries them. Without Nymphadora he would be trapped in his head, reminiscing about everything that he has lost, and his head is not a fun place at the moment. In fact, it's been well over fifteen years since his head could be considered a fun place. The anniversary of that first great loss did not pass any easier this year than any other.

They have decided to meet at the Burrow rather than Grimmauld Place - it's neutral territory emotionally. He walks over the threshold and sees her chatting to Molly Weasley. Her hair is still mousy-brown and she's fading all over, becoming the living breathing ghost of the Nymphadora Tonks he knew before. She looks older but not tougher, and he wishes he could hold her and say that it's going to be fine, but he can't. He can't cross the line. It was too much to ask to put Sirius through all of it and Sirius was never that delicate.

They both notice him and fall silent. Molly nods at him curtly. "Do you have time for a cup of tea?"

"Not right now, sorry." If he was honest with himself he would have to admit that tea would be very welcome, but they've got to get going, keep away from the tricky subjects. Molly sighs and leaves them alone.

Nymphadora reaches for her coat. "I think Molly's trying to marry me off to Bill. Or possibly Charlie. Or just anyone that isn't you," she says, slightly bitterly.

"Two birds with one stone," he replies, focusing on a spot of wall. He knows that Molly's busybody nature is far from malicious, she just wants to see everyone smiling, however impossible a task it may seem at times.

"Has she said anything to you?"

Remus says nothing. Molly has had several little chats with him and he doubts she's anywhere near finished. They walk along the driveway in silence for a while until she obviously can't take it anymore. "Look, Remus, I don't care about any of it. I don't care you're a werewolf, I don't care about the age gap."

"Well, I do. I don't want to end up dying and leaving you on your own." He is surprised at the resentment in his own voice, but he knows how much it hurts. He's dealing with it, he no longer feels angry at Sirius for leaving him behind, but the ache left by being the last Marauder is always going to hurt.

She looks unimpressed. "We're all in danger of dying far too soon."

***

VI. - November 1979

Remus cannot sleep. He watches Sirius's chest rise and fall with each relaxed breath, smiles as he flexes his fingers and his lips form familiar shapes, words not spoken. The moon, half-full and bright in the clear, cold sky, shines in onto them and it makes Remus nervous. He can't tell if he's imagining the way it makes his wounds ache more, a deep burning into his bones. He feels so much older than nineteen.

He rolls in closer to Sirius, savouring the warmth for a moment, then whispers in his ear. "Sirius. Padfoot..."

His bedfellow groans, then opens his eyes slowly and turns to face him. "What is it?"

"Sirius... what will you do when I die?" The words spill out, unwelcome but necessary. If he can't say them in the middle of the night like this, when can he say them?

"Wow, that's a bit morbid." Sirius frowns, and reaches out to touch Remus's face. Remus pushes his hand away and just holds it, although Sirius attempts to rub circles on his palm, calming and soft.

"I'm serious."

"No, I'm Sirius." He grins stupidly as if he hasn't told that joke a million times. "Well, for starters, when you die I will be very old. Very, very old. No, don't say it, I will. You're not going anywhere, we'll find a way."

Remus doesn't know if Sirius simply doesn't understand or is just in denial; he's told him a hundred times that werewolves who fight the transformation rarely live past their thirties, that his body is getting more tired and frail every transformation, that unless some huge breakthrough in curing lycanthropy or at least making the transformation less physically and psychologically damaging arrives within the next decade then Remus does not have the forever-and-a-day that Sirius seems to think they have.

"You're not going anywhere," repeats Sirius. They lie there in silence for a while, then - "Night, Moony." Sirius kisses him lightly then closes his eyes, falling back into that easy rhythm, and Remus lies there, counting the nights until full moon, and the full moons after that.

***

VII. - February 1997

"We've been over this a thousand times!" he shouts, and is shocked by how resentful he sounds.

But she doesn't wince or back away. Her eyes flash with anger and for a second she isn't the sweet, clumsy girl he's grown so used to, so fond of in his own inadequate way, she's someone deeper and darker and stronger, her mother's daughter. "What are you so afraid of, Remus?"

"Of hurting you," he says, honest and quiet. She falls silent, eyes cast down. "Maybe someday my body will adapt to the wolfsbane, and it'll all go to hell again. Merlin knows there have been times I've forgotten to take it - " he shudders at the memory " - and there was enough damage done already. Look at me. Take a long look. I'm broken. I've got the body of a fifty-year old soldier who's still fighting, scars and all, and my mind's little better. You can do so much better than this."

"What if I don't want to?"

***

VIII. - April 1978

When Remus comes round he aches all over, apart from the places where he feels more of a stinging sensation. He lets a low groan escape his mouth, followed by something that sounds suspiciously like a whimper. The dawn sunlight is as weak and weedy as he feels right now. He rolls over, taking in the Shrieking Shack in all its dilapidation, and is somewhat comforted by the sight of Sirius, James and Peter all lying under blankets. James is snoring gently and Peter is fidgeting, while - oh hell no, please no. Remus sees the gash in Sirius's shoulder, the blood seeping through the blanket slightly despite how hard he's clutching it. Oh god no. If he has bitten Sirius... if, after everything, he's infected him...

Sirius stirs as if he can feel Remus staring at him and opens his eyes groggily. "Hey. What are you... oh." He pokes his shoulder.

"I bit you, didn't I?" says Remus, desperately trying to keep his voice level as his heart beats so fast he thinks it might explode. "I mean, it was when you were a dog, it might not be the same... you might be okay... please tell me it's all going to be okay."

"It's all going to be okay, Moony," says Sirius, rolling his eyes. "It's just a scratch, were were playfighting and I fell in a stupid bush. It's embarrassing. Remind me not to get you so over-excited." He grins, obviously trying for flirty but missing by miles.

Remus feels faint, relieved but terrified all at once. "I was... you have no idea how scared I was."

"I told you, it's fine."

"But it might not have been! You think this is all a game, don't you? One big, hilarious game?" Remus realises he is shouting - James and Peter are waking up, disorientated and annoyed. "I'm dangerous, Sirius."

"I know. And I can take it," says Sirius bluntly, apparently either unaware that their friends can hear them or finally just not caring. "You're worth the risk."

***

IX. - March 1997

It's been another stressful year for the Weasleys, but Molly still takes in waifs and strays as if seven children is nowhere near enough. Remus has been invited over on the pretext of celebrating his thirty-seventh birthday with a slice of cake and some tea and he can tell that today it's his turn for another bout of motherly prodding.

Molly and Arthur are in the kitchen when he wanders in and they both look at him with smiles on their faces.

"I made you chocolate cake, I know you like that, and you're such a picky eater so I thought I should play it safe." Remus smiles, remembering the time Molly declared that Ron was a picky eater - 'anything but corned beef' does not count as picky in his mind. She gestures towards a tin on the kitchen table. "I'll cut you a slice. Arthur, would you put the kettle on?" It's all very homey, but Remus braces for the inevitable interrogation anyway. Molly's not that much older than him but she's everyone's mum, right down to knowing-what's-best interference.

They sit down. Remus's slice is twice the size of their ones and he feels strangely guilty that the Weasleys have taken it upon themselves to feed him, as if he can't afford food himself. He generally can't but it stings a bit anyway. It's very good cake though.

They talk briefly about Harry, Ron and Hermione. The kettle's whistles had been completely ignored and it sits gently steaming. Instead, Arthur brings out the firewhiskey. It's obviously a rare treat - the bottle is old but still half-full. He pours out three measures and Remus sips at his gingerly even though he knows he's supposed to swallow it quickly to reduce the burning sensation.

"So, how are things with you and Nymphadora?" asks Molly innocently.

Remus tries to remind himself that she's just trying to make everyone happy, even if it means pushing one person in one direction and the other in a completely different one. But he can't swallow it down any more than he can the firewhiskey. "Not this again... Just look at me. I'm sick, I've got no money - "

"So what if you've got no money? What's so bad about being poor?" says Molly, slightly annoyed. "Money can't buy you love, that's what me and Arthur have always said." Arthur nods, and not just because Molly would give him a death-glare if he didn't.

Remus backtracks quickly. "No, I didn't say that, it's..."

"Just look at the Malfoys!" says Molly, puffing up a little, and Arthur makes an "I'd really rather not" face for comedy value, obviously still glad that Lucius finally got his comeuppance. "All that money, and they're as miserable as sin."

 _Yes, Azkaban does tend to do that,_ thinks Remus distractedly.

They finish the firewhiskey in silence. Molly starts washing the dishes and Arthur leads him out into the garden, looking conspiratorial. They wander through the vegetation until Arthur finally speaks.

"Look, Remus, I know you're a proud man. You don't like relying on charity, but... your condition... has made it hard for you to earn your own money. I understand that, I really do. Just don't let that get in the way of a chance to be happy. Molly's parents weren't all that keen on me, you know, said I didn't have any prospects, wouldn't be able to afford to make her happy."

"You still don't have any money," says Remus, raising his eyebrows, but he smiles to show him he's not being serious. Arthur smiles back.

"No, I don't. But I've got everything I could ever need, right here."

***

X. - December 1995

Remus is back from a routine surveillance operation with Nymphadora, and Sirius's greeting consists of a quick squeeze of his knee during that day's Order meeting, then catching him afterwards to rant about Snape and Umbridge and the Ministry and the Daily Prophet and how Harry doesn't need any of this. His breath carries a slight taint of alcohol. Of course Remus agrees, of course they need to protect Harry, but there's a part of him that just wants to sit quietly with Sirius. But he's still grateful for everything he's got because there was a time when he had nothing, and it's not like Sirius was ever quiet anyway.

"...Of course, it'll be Christmas soon so he'll be here and we can be like a proper family. We should get him a present."

Remus snaps out of his daze. "We?" The idea of them as a proper couple still makes him feel a little strange.

"Well, obviously. We should get him something to help with the DA, maybe a book. I'm so bloody proud of him for that. It's the sort of thing James would have done."

Remus secretly thinks that when James was fifteen his reaction to the tyranny of Umbridge would have been slightly more spiteful and chaotic, but he doesn't say it. He respects James too much, the man James became, and the last thing he wants to do is upset Sirius when his grip on reality seems especially precarious. "That's a good idea."

"I'll give you the money for all of it, 'cause I know you're still a bit strapped for galleons. I wish I could go and get it with you..." Sirius pauses, obviously contemplating the injustice of being essentially imprisoned again. "But you'll choose something good, you always do. Get yourself something nice with the change, 'cause, well, it's Christmas and you should get a present too." He wanders off to find the money, and Remus has the sudden feeling that he is a kept man. But when Sirius comes back and presses the coins into his hands he finally kisses him and maybe he's being hopelessly romantic and optimistic but it doesn't feel like a pity kiss for a charity case.

***

XI. - May 1997

She wants commitment, she wants forever, and he just wants to kiss her or escape into the night, possibly both.

When he was younger, it'd been different. Sirius's bizarre attitude to commitment had stung - he'd die for someone, but wouldn't call himself theirs, had to live his life on his own terms - and Remus had gotten angry about that every so often. Sirius's life had been constricted and controlled for so long until he ran away that of course anyone imposing terms on him would make him uncomfortable, and it had been in his nature to rebel against rules anyway. Remus supposes that he'd always understood that deep down, but he hadn't liked it, even after Azkaban when he knew that Sirius's mind had been damaged far too much to expect consistency. Now, though, he'd be the one running away every time things got difficult, and although it's for different reasons he doesn't want to put her through that. Now I need you, now I don't. Now I want you, now I don't.

She sighs. "Fine. Be like that. Just promise me you'll do me one favour."

"Anything."

"Stop calling me Nymphadora. Anything but Nymphadora, seriously. I will even accept Dora if you still have some weird mental block about calling me Tonks."

Remus smiles wanly. "I think I can manage that."

 

***

XII. - October 1994

"Hey, Moony." It takes him by surprise - he'd half-thought that Sirius wouldn't show up, for whatever reason. But here he is. His hair is shorter than Remus has ever seen it before; he must have had to shave it all off to the scalp to deal with the tangles and matted clumps. Even though it's grown it's still not the jaw-length-or-longer that Remus has always seen on him, and Remus can tell he's not looking after it properly and it'll get all matted again. He's cut his nails too but they're still discoloured, and he remains as thin as a corpse. But there have been some pleasant changes - he's not dressed in rags and has a tan, and Remus suspects that Sirius still looks better than he ever will.

They look out over the sea, reflecting the colours of the sunset as a few stars start to appear in the clear, darkening sky. It's nothing like the first time they ended up on a cliff-top looking out at the ocean together, something like sixteen years ago - that had been Cornwall rather than Portugal, and the whole affair had been colder and windier (it's Hallowe'en now but Remus wouldn't have guessed if he only had the weather to go by) and a lot more sordid. But those had been very different days, full of joy and terror and illegal flying motorcycle rides.

"Thirteen years," whispers Sirius, then suddenly he begins to sob and Remus bundles him into his arms and hugs him tight as Sirius basically howls into his chest, all tears and snot. There's nothing pretty or romantic about this, but that's love. If Remus had expected love to be beautiful and happy all the time he thinks he probably would have killed himself years ago out of sheer disappointment.

They stay there for a while, remembering everything and everyone they've lost. But eventually, inevitably, Sirius extricates himself from Remus's embrace and leaves him standing alone in the dark.

***

XIII. - June 1997

It was only her hand clenching his so tight that kept him from breaking down as they said goodbye to yet another one of the most important people in all their lives. The day was too beautiful but somehow that fit. He suspected Dumbledore had his own deep fits of melancholy but that wasn't how he'd want to be remembered, and the weather reflects that joy. The sun is going down and everyone is starting to leave after the impromptu wake, but they stay sitting under a tree. Maybe he's learned the trick to keeping it together. Just live in the moment.

"I can't believe he's gone," she says quietly. "I mean... he was Dumbledore. I guess I thought he was indestructible."

"We all did." His voice is too grim. It wasn't what he wanted.

She leans on his shoulder and puts her hand on his knee. "It's going to be okay."

He's scared. He has always been and always will be terrified of what's in his blood, the curse within his veins. But Sirius wasn't scared, and neither is Dora. He's tired of being alone, tired of pushing people away - the danger is growing and for all he knows they might both end up dead in a matter of months, so those had better be the best months humanly possible.

Remus takes one last look at the white tomb, glinting in the setting sun. He turns to her and looks straight into her eyes, wondering if he should say it when he can't even afford to buy her a ring. Whether he should get down on one knee, despite the fact it would probably make a horrible cracking noise. But those aren't the important parts, he realises. That's not what this is about. "Dora, will you marry me?" he manages in a trembling voice.

A huge grin spreads across her face. "Like you don't know the answer already."

***

XIV. - April 1996

Remus cannot sleep. He lies on his side, trying to keep his breathing regular, his movements slow and rare, and give a pretense of rest. Sirius's arm curls round him, and they are both so thin and insubstantial these days, skinny and scarred, that it doesn't give him the same feeling of safety that it used to. Sirius' hair is tickling his cheek. He would push him off, get uncomfortable or annoyed, but really it feels good, proves to him it's real. They don't get to be like this often. Too much Order business. Too many ghosts.

"Moony... I can't sleep." The whisper is quiet but straight into his ear. "And I know you can't either."

Remus sighs. "You're right."

"What'll you do when I die?" Sirius says it matter-of-factly, hiding the tremor in his voice. The words send a chill all the way through Remus and he frowns in the darkness. "You're doing so much better these days, I'm not going to be able to keep up with you. What will you do?"

"Well, I've had practice," he responds bluntly. "Had to believe you were as good as dead... I died too, without you and James and Lily and Peter." Sirius responds only by resting his head on Remus's shoulder and tightening his hug. "But now you're back, and we're all going to be fine. We've got the Order, I've got the wolfsbane potion, you've got Harry to look after, we'll get your name cleared, and you're safe here." _But this is war,_ says a nasty little part of Remus's brain, _and what are the chances that Sirius Black will stay put in his mother's house and avoid fighting?_ Remus sighs. "What do you want me to do IF you die before me?" His head is spinning and he doesn't want to think about death tonight, not tonight, ever. Sirius doesn't answer for a while and there are no sounds around them but the strange creaks of Grimmauld Place, as if it is alive and thinking.

Finally Sirius speaks. "I want you to carry on. I want you to be happy. You deserve it."

**Author's Note:**

> In retrospect - this was written mostly because of a friend who is a big Remus/Tonks shipper, and because I couldn't stand the infighting between Remus/Sirius fans and Remus/Tonks fans when our ships are not in any way mutually exclusive. If anything it improves the text to have a character who experienced love and instead of dying with their love or refusing to move on actually continued to have a life like normal people. LadyFawkes and I helped each other understand bigger and better interpretations of canon and gave each other new insights on characters and relationships. It's all good.


End file.
